


The Bewildering Habits of Pirates

by Mez10000



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gen, Pirates, Post-Game, Slice of Life, Van Eltia crew as family, mentions of Aifread, minor spoilers for Berseria, no Zestiria spoilers, the OC is mostly just to give an outside perspective on the Van Eltia crew, tons of Tales series references
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-04-03 20:45:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14004408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mez10000/pseuds/Mez10000
Summary: A new hire to the Van Eltia struggles with some of the more bizarre habits of the crew...





	The Bewildering Habits of Pirates

 

I used to be a cook on a merchant vessel. Now I'm a cook on a pirate vessel. Funny how life works out, really. The job is largely the same, but now I get a share of the prize money on top of my wage, so that's nice. The pirates do have some peculiarities that I would never have expected, mind.

I suppose I should start at the beginning. For me, this was deep in the galley of the merchant vessel  _ Anise _ , trying to rustle up a new way to make salted Rappig appetising. I heard the cannon shots, of course - I challenge anyone at sea to try and ignore the sound - but the  _ Anise  _ was well-crewed and used to fending off opportunist pirates. The first I knew of the capture was when the pirate captain himself - barely older than a lad, with a messy nest of blonde hair - poked his head down into the kitchen.

“This ship is under the control of the Van Aifread crew,” the captain announced, tone surprisingly amiable despite the content. “Join your crew up on deck and you won't get hurt.”

“Oh,” I said. I couldn't rightly recall if my subdued response was due to shock or apathy.

Then I had a sudden flash of inspiration that would change my life. “By any chance are you looking for a cook? The pay here is lousy and I doubt it'll improve after the cargo’s been seized.”

The captain smiled. “We could use someone who knows their way around a kitchen. Gotta warn you, we aren't exactly the luckiest crew around.”

I looked around at the  _ Anise’s  _ kitchen, low on supplies and now in the hands of pirates. “Seems to be luckier than the crew of this ship from where I'm standing,” I replied.

“Well, then, welcome aboard! Name’s Benwick.”

“Mine’s Sage, Captain,” I offered back and just like that, I was part of the crew.

The peculiarities started off small and while I took note of them, I paid them little mind to begin with. The first time we made port, everyone gathered on deck, anticipating some much-desired leave.

“Alright, everyone. We’re putting in for three days,” Benwick announced loudly, projecting his voice far further than the small crowd around him. “As usual, we’ll leave on the turn of the tide on day three - not a moment before or after. If you’re not on board, we’re leaving without you, alright?”

Oddly, those last words were punctuated with a glance up the rigging, but as no one else seemed to find anything unusual about the motion, I kept my own mouth shut.

I mostly forgot about the incident while enjoying my own shore leave. I had managed to track down a couple of interesting books I had wanted to read, and enjoyed the delights of solid ground and fresh food while I had access to them.

I returned to the vessel early, taking the captain’s words on punctuality to heart. So had the rest of the crew. The entire crew were present and accounted for as the tide began to turn. The captain still watched the port expectantly, as if he’d mislaid a crew member. I was starting to fear we would miss the turn of the tide entirely, as the captain seemed determined to stay for a few more minutes, though why I had no idea. Eventually, the captain gave orders to get the ship underway. Again, no one else in the crew made a comment, so I returned to the kitchen and tried to put it out of my mind.

I keep a very organised kitchen. At sea, you have to. Food and water must be carefully rationed to ensure the crew can survive if misfortune struck between ports. I had made a list of needed provisions before we had put in, and I was pleased to discover that the captain had arranged for more than I'd suggested to be stocked, and a few additional ingredients that I hadn't even mentioned were there, too. My eye was caught by a particularly fine-looking bottle of whiskey, purely because it seemed unusual next to the rum that made up the bulk of the spirits on board. At the time, I supposed the bottle might be Benwick’s indulgence.

Either way, I had important work to do. I took an inventory of the kitchen’s supplies and began working out a plan for the voyage’s meals.

As a rule, the entire crew ate in two shifts, but altogether. Rank was not a large concern on their ship, except to have someone to decide where to go and what to do (and who to blame if things went wrong...or so I thought). So Benwick was often seen dining with the rest of the colourful characters, eating the same food and drinking the same watered down grog as everyone else.

It was a few weeks before I noticed anything unusual in my kitchen. The stores of many ingredients seemed slightly lower than they should be - not by much, but even a small difference was apparent when you carefully rationed out supplies. On further investigation, the bottle of whiskey had also disappeared.

I had checked the stores carefully for any evidence of natural causes first - it would hardly be the first time that rats had pillaged a ship’s supplies - but I doubted any pest at sea would take a fancy to an entire bottle of whiskey. I eventually came to two unsettling conclusions. Someone was stealing from the ship's stores and I would have to tell Benwick.

I didn't exactly want to be the bearer of bad news, but stealing food at sea was serious. If left unchecked, we could be adrift and starving when we should have had plenty. So I steeled myself and took my news to the captain’s cabin.

Benwick was reading a letter when he told me to come in, but he quickly put it down when he saw my face. I didn’t know how to break the news but eventually settled on laying the facts at the Captain’s feet in the most straightforward way I could manage.

“Captain, I have some troubling news - it looks like someone has been stealing from the stores. In addition to food, I believe your whiskey was pilfered,” I explained.

Benwick didn't seem overly troubled by my news. “ _ My _ whiskey? Nah, that was for the first mate,” Benwick explained. “He’s probably helped himself to the stores, too.”

“The first mate?” I was still learning to put the names and positions of crew members to faces, but I couldn't recall who the first mate was. “I'm not entirely sure I've seen him.”

Benwick - perplexingly - grinned. “You wouldn't have. He's a rather private character, keeps himself to himself. I wouldn't worry, he won't rob your supplies blind.”

That was all Benwick would say on the matter.

Naturally, in the following days, I was curious about this first mate, and with little else to occupy my mind, I asked around.

“Dyle, I was wondering if you could point the first mate out to me.”

Dyle grinned. “Nah, I can’t point him out right now, but I can describe him if you want.”

“Okay.”

I wound up getting a similar description from various crew members, which I'll compile here for efficiency. They all spoke of a tall man with blonde, chin-length hair, pale eyes and was sharply dressed in a waistcoat and floor-length jacket. My only problem was that there wasn't a crew member I had seen that even vaguely matched that description. On a ship, I had expected I had seen all the crew members by now, if only at a glance, yet this all spoke of a person I had not seen hide nor hair of.

The other odd thing was that all the crew members I talked to seemed rather amused when I asked about this first mate, which led me to one conclusion - this was some elaborate joke that the old crew members knew of and perpetuated to confuse new hires like myself. There was, in reality, no first mate, just a story to haze newcomers. I returned to my duties with the mystery solved...or so I then thought.

One evening, I thought to read one of my books to pass the time, only to find that they were not stowed away with the rest of my things. I couldn’t find them anywhere I might have left them, either, and that was a short list comprising mainly of the kitchen and my hammock.

“My books are missing,” I commented to my nearest bunkmate that evening.

“What were they about?”

“One was a historical tome;  _ Architecture of the Balacruf Dynasty _ and the other was a treatise;  _ Cultural Advances within Amarcian-influenced Societies _ .”

“Ah, that’d explain it. The first mate’s borrowed them,” he muttered, rolling over to go back to sleep. “He’ll return them when he’s done.”

I didn’t mind the elaborate joke on principle - there was no harm done by pretending there was a non-existent member of the crew just to bewilder me. But to use it as an excuse to steal my property felt like a particularly low blow, especially considering the steep price of books. I fell uneasily into sleep, resolutely trying not to think about how I had never seen the thief in action, and how I could best terminate my employment with the pirates the next time we made port.

As it happened, I did not leave the pirates. A few days later, the books returned themselves to my trunk, with an additional handwritten note thanking me for the loan of my books, signed from the first mate. As no harm was done, I put aside my plans to leave, though I did wish that the mystery thief would have just asked to borrow my books. I studied the note as if the penmanship might give me a clue to his identity, but aside from being very neat writing, the note revealed nothing.

The next incident was a lesson in just how quickly life at sea can turn. We had struggled with a ferocious storm for two days, barely managing to keep the Van Eltia afloat and seaworthy through the gales and lashing rains. The supply of wood for repairs was running seriously low. When the storm finally blew itself out, the seas were becalmed - almost a worse prospect than the storm in the long run, as without a puff of wind, we were going nowhere fast.

The final straw was a barrel of salted fish - despite being unopened and well preserved, the storm had apparently done unseen damage to the barrel, let in water and the whole barrel was spoiled. We were a full week away from the nearest port with a fair wind - with no wind at all, we may as well have been on the other side of the world.

“Hardly any food, no wood, no wind...this is a rotten bout of luck,” I griped to Benwick, wondering how to feed the crew for the next week or so.

“I did say we weren't lucky,” the captain shrugged.

“You don't think you've angered Amenoch or something? I've never seen luck this bad on a single voyage.”

In previous employment, I'd seen everything from ghosts to women to cursed goods blamed for a voyage’s misfortune, all in dire, humourless muttering. I didn't really believe in any of the superstitions sailors often carried, but I did have a wary respect for the Empyreans, if for no other reason than my family’s worship of them, in my childhood in Yseult. My grandmother would chastise me if I’d so much as hinted that worship of Amenoch was old-fashioned to the point that my healthy respect of her somehow translated to respect of Amenoch.

Benwick actually laughed at this. “No, our bad luck problem has a source much closer to home. But we’re used to it. Remind me to tell you the story of how we all caught Corsair's Scourge sometime.”

That went some way towards explaining the very well stocked casks of sale’tohma I'd found in the hold. It seemed a sensible precaution for those that had already suffered from it once and lived to tell the tale.

“Guess I'd better tell the crew we’re fishing for our supper tonight.”

Just like that, the crisis was dealt with. The crew all seemed very capable with a rod, and by the end of a few hours, we had enough fish to make a respectable stew to keep us going through the following week, supplemented by our dry stores of biscuits. As soon as the wind picked up, we limped our way to port, with no problems more serious than a need for a hearty meal when we arrived.

I'd never seen a crew in such good humour in a crisis - under similar circumstances, many of the former vessels I had crewed on would have been threatening mutiny if not outright carrying it out.

“Not that I'm complaining,” I mentioned to Benwick once, “but the crew seems so calm in cases of bad luck. I’ve heard of navy vessels overthrown by their crew over something as simple as becalming, yet everyone here just took it in their stride.”

“I told you, we’ve had worse. It helps that everyone chose to be here, of course, and that piracy pays a damn sight better than the navy.”

I nodded.

“But it's mostly because we know exactly why we have bad luck.”

I frowned. “And you haven't done anything about it?”

“It's the first mate,” Benwick shrugged. “Got the worst luck I've ever seen. Only thing to do would be to ask him to leave, but no one on board would ever contemplate that.”

I got frustrated then, it shames me to admit. It seemed no matter what happened, no matter how serious, the entire crew - even the captain himself - would stick to this infantile joke.

“Stop joking around! There isn't a first mate!” I hissed.

Benwick straightened up, completely serious. For once he actually looked the part of captain, with all the weight and authority that commanded. “If you ever disrespect a member of my crew like that again, we’re parting ways at the nearest port. Do I make myself clear?”

I was stunned. It didn't seem in Benwick's nature to pull rank over a mere prank. Suddenly I realised that I had severely misjudged the situation - that perhaps this first mate did exist, and was just extremely reclusive. I supposed that if he spent the majority of his time up in the crow’s nest, where I had no duties, it was conceivable - if unlikely - that I might not have seen the man.

“I-I apologise, I believe I may have misunderstood the situation,” I stammered by way of explanation and fled from the captain.

The next time I saw Benwick, he acted as though the altercation had never taken place and I followed suit. If my words had left any lingering offence he was good enough not to act on it, which might have explained why he was captain at such a young age. He seemed a natural leader now I was used to the concept - he wielded authority not through force but through amiable loyalty. Hanging onto a small argument would be a poor move for a captain that relies on the goodwill of his crew.

“Ah, Sage! I just wanted to ask if it wouldn't be too much trouble for you to bring my dinner up to my cabin this evening? I suppose you’d better bring two - the first mate will probably be dining with me this evening.”

Through my relief and shock, I managed to get out an “Aye, aye, captain!” and return back to work, mind whirring away.

The request was not all that unusual on most vessels - in fact, the rarity was a captain that usually ate with his crew. So I was more than happy to fulfil the request. More importantly, it seemed as though I would finally meet this elusive first mate I had heard so much about. I spent the entire day wondering about him.

He was obviously well known to the crew and they all spoke of him with great fondness, so that spoke of a time when he was much more involved in their everyday lives. In that case, was it simply shyness that meant that I had not seen him so far? The pains he must have taken to avoid me spoke of a something beyond mere shyness, likely more a nervous disposition. Yet he felt strongly enough to borrow my books, so he obviously had a passion for history. Perhaps I could draw him out of his shell with our shared interest?

When it came time to take the dinner up, I was beside myself with curiosity. I paused a moment at the door because I could hear Benwick’s voice. I didn't want to interrupt them if they were in the middle of something.

“You know, you probably don't want to hear this, so poke me or something if you want me to shut up, but…

“I miss Aifread. I know we all do - he was a friend to all of us. But I miss him being captain. I miss not having to make the tough decisions, you know? I don't like having to make the call to engage or not, knowing every death or injury is my responsibility. I guess that's a pretty selfish reason to wish he was still here, isn't it?

“I bet if he were here, he'd say something like the fact that I'm  _ not  _ comfortable making the life or death decisions makes me a better captain. That if I were comfortable throwing away the lives of his crew, he'd find me despicable.

“Apart from all that, I wish he was here for  _ you.  _ I know we're doing our best, but surely it gets lonely without--”

There was a loud thud.

“Ow! Alright, I'll shut up! I said  _ poke  _ me, not throw...what is that, anyway?”

I sensed the moment was over and knocked at the door.

“Ah, come on in!”

I entered the cabin to see Benwick rubbing his head, a thick book on the floor and...no one else was in the room. I put the two plates on the table and looked around.

“Captain? I uh...I heard talking.”

“Yeah?” Benwick muttered distractedly. “I was talking to Eizen. He doesn't exactly speak back, but he sure knows how to get his point across.”

I looked around pointedly. “And Eizen is the first mate?”

“Has...has no one introduced you?”

I frowned. “No.”

A look of realisation slowly spread across Benwick’s face. “The crew never...well, no wonder you reacted how you did! Out of curiosity, what did you think was going on?”

“Honestly? At first, I thought it was an elaborate joke - that there was no first mate. Then I thought that maybe he was painfully shy. Now…” I looked around to confirm the room only contained myself and Benwick. “To be honest, I'm not sure what to think.”

“Ah. I thought someone would say something - I see that that was perhaps a bit of an oversight. Well, let me introduce you to Eizen, our first mate and a malak.”

I gasped. “A malak? I…”

I had never heard of any malakhim travelling with humans - at least not one unaccompanied by an exorcist. I bowed.

“Forgive me, Lord Eizen, I was under the impression that the malakhim had all disappeared.”

After all, there was that incident a few years back where all the abbey’s malakhim had suddenly up and left overnight. After that, no one I knew had even seen a malak.

Benwick chuckled. “Most of them aren't exactly fond of humans after the abbey’s actions, it's true. But Eizen’s part of our family.”

Benwick discovered a scrap of paper in his hand and read it. “Yeah, Eizen’s forgiven you. You can drop the Lord.”

I straightened out, a flush colouring my cheeks. “Of course.” Then, overcome with curiosity, “so how does it work? I mean, having a malak as a crew member isn't exactly…”

“Practical? After all, none of us can see him or hear him anymore. That's what you were thinking, right?”

I nodded.

“Before the opening, we thought the ship was haunted, honestly. Our captain at the time knew better, though - you never could get anything past Aifread. Afterwards, we got a chance to know him for ourselves and make him part of the crew. Now, we find ways to make it work, and as you can see, he’s got ways to make himself heard.”

I peered at the book on the floor. “Is that... _ The Compendium of Reize Maxian Tribes _ ?”

“Beats me,” Benwick replied. “All I know is that it's heavy and Eizen doesn't mind throwing it at me.”

“Do you think it'd be okay if I borrowed it? I've not been able to find a copy myself.”

Benwick shrugged. A scrap of paper pushed its way into my hand.

“ _ Knock yourself out _ ,” I read aloud. Then turning to address what felt like the right patch of empty space, “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

Finally, I had met - in a manner of speaking - the elusive first mate. I would never have guessed a malak would stoop to travelling with humans like this, but now I knew, everything made sense. It certainly explained why the crew had treated my asking around as some big joke.

Speaking of joking around, the next time I went up on deck, at least four separate crew members bowed low and said in mocking tone, “Lord Eizen!” before descending helplessly into guffaws. At first, I was mortified, but by the end of the day, even I could see the funny side. At least this time I was in on the joke.

After that, finding odd notes from the first mate was a regular, if uncommon, occurrence. We both were on the lookout for books to lend to each other, and every time we made port, I kept an eye out for books I thought Eizen might enjoy. It was oddly like having a pen pal, except with instant responses.

I took to talking to myself in the kitchen or singing just in case Eizen happened to be around. Had to be more entertaining than just watching me cook, in any case, if he were around. After someone had caught me singing that good old shanty  _ Spirit Home  _ (a surprisingly mournful song about lovers separated by duties that they cannot abandon, but hope to see each other again soon), I had well and truly earned myself the nickname of ‘Canary Chef’ and another bout of teasing.

I did not truly mind, though. There are plenty of interesting nicknames floating around the Van Eltia, all coloured with a healthy dollop of affection. (Dyle, for instance, often gets called ‘Tailless’, for reasons I have yet to uncover.) In the end, it was undoubtedly proof that somehow I belonged in this family, as unusual as it was.

**Author's Note:**

> I made the massive mistake of playing Berseria first and getting way too attached to the party...playing Zestiria was quite a lot sadder than it needed to be for me...
> 
> Not the first Berseria fic I've written, but the first one I'm willing to post. I really didn't want the first thing I contributed to the fandom to be as angsty as it was. It might be the second, though, so...watch this space?


End file.
